


Lap Dance (1)

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [4]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Borderline Smut, Dancer! Reader, Dominant Reader, F/M, burlesque! reader, stripper! reader, submissive Chris Evans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911
Summary: You give him a lap dance. You make things hard for him.





	Lap Dance (1)

As you walked past Crystal’s room, you heard her giggling. You might as well enjoy it too. Despite the fact that Chris was an imposter, he was a damn good knock-off. You could pretend it was him. You decided to follow Crystal’s advice. You might as well get off if he was going to get off too. You grabbed your speaker, phone and a couple of water bottles.  
The room was all mirrors with a pole on a stage and a chair in the middle. You put the water bottles on the ground by the door. You turned your back to him to set up the speaker by the door. You made sure to bend over at the waist to give him a good show. 

“I already know you got moves, so I’m going to give this to you now.”

You looked at him with an arched eyebrow and took the folded-up bill. A hundred-dollar bill. You were definitely in business tonight. You held it back out to him. 

“You know I’m not desperate for your money, right?”  
“I know that,” he said sincerely, “just didn’t want to forget to tip you.”  
“Hm.”

You pursed your lips at him, not knowing whether to be insulted or flattered. Slightly insulted. You’d make him work for it tonight. 

“Shall we get started? Or do you want to keep talkin’?”  
“Well, I wouldn’t mind talking to you.”  
“No. You paid for a dance. Let’s get started.”

You ran your index finger along the inside of his waistband, close enough to his manhood to get him hard, but not enough to satisfy him. You pushed him down into the chair and watched him rub his palms on his thighs. You could tell he was school-boy nervous.  
You turned on your play list and adjusted the volume. 

“Dancers can touch the customers. But, customers can’t touch the dancers. We’re an all-nude club, but no funny business or I get the bouncer.”  
“Understood.”  
“I don’t have conversations with customers.”  
“You don’t?”  
“No. Never.”  
“Interesting. Is that just you or all the dancers here?”  
“It’s just me. I can get another dancer if you want to back out…or if you need a therapy session.”

He threw his hands up to placate you.

“Nope. You’re more than enough.”

He watched you walk to the stage as the opening bars of “Play” by David Banner started. You sidled up to the pole and pulled off your tank top, leaving you in a tiny white bikini top. The transparency of a wet white bikini and your chocolate nipples showing through worked like bait. You’d only made $150 for the night, including the tip he’s already given you. If he was who he pretended to be, then he could throw a couple more Benjamins your way. You slid down the pole, bent over and pulled off your boy shorts with your back to him. You strutted over to the water bottles while the music transitioned into the next song. You placed them front and center on the stage. You crawled across the stage to the pole. He sat up straighter, curious to see what you would do with the water bottles. You crawled on the floor and slid up his body, rubbing your chest against his hardening cock. 

“Don’t worry,” you whisper in his ear, “you aren’t in the splash zone.”

You strut back to the stage and twirl around the pole. You slide down the pole and reach for the water bottle between your knees. You pour it down your chest with your knees spread apart showing him everything you got underneath. He leans forward, mentally recording every detail: the pink neon reflecting off your skin, your nipples showing through the top, and nothing showing through the bottoms. You lean forward and reach under the stage for the towel.  
You had him. You knew you had him—hook, line and sink ‘er. You knew you were on the skinny side, but no surprise, since you were a dancer. Your cousins used to tease you about not having any boobs, because you were a toothpick. You beat them all in the ass department though. Besides it wasn’t the body that men wanted, it was the skill set you possessed. You might not have had a Kim Kardashian body, but you sure knew how to seduce men. You flirted. You busted balls. You knew what a man needed within the first 5 minutes of talking to him. This one needed someone to control him. A chocolate honey who would tie him to the bed, use him ‘til he ran dry.  
You wrapped the towel around yourself and made a show of taking off your bottoms and top. Part of your strip tease was an elaborate dry-off routine. You discretely slid your sopping wet bikini under the stage. Next to go was your towel. The man looked at you like he’d never seen a woman before. His eyes greedily soaked in every inch of your body and you gave him precisely what he wanted. You slide over to him and sit on his lap. You hear him grunt as you begin to grind on him. You feel his hands lightly touch your hips. You jump up off of his lap and cut the music off. A minute later, Jose knocks on the door. 

“You ok in there?”

“Yup. Thanks Jose.”

You turn the music back on. 

“I have to restrain you since you can’t follow the rules,” you whisper in his ear. 

You feel him getting hard between your legs. You plant yourself in his lap while you tie his wrists to the chair. Completely unnecessary, of course.

“Behave or I’ll really have to punish you.”  
“Please do.”  
“In your dreams.”

You smirk at him. You grind against him to the beat of the music. You already feel your clit throbbing between your legs. You gently scrape your fingernails against the nape of his neck into his scalp. You closely watch him lean into it and close his eyes. You tilt your head down and grind into his lap hard. You see him plant his feet in the mirrors and push up against you. You could feel the seam of his zipper rubbing against you. 

“Sorry if I get you wet. It’s a bit hot in here.”  
“It’s ok. Get as wet as you need.”

You couldn’t tell if that was a pick-up line, some kind of euphemism, or what. You were deep in your haze. 

“Whatever you need. You just take it.”

He was nearly perfect. In this moment, it was just the two of you. You could believe he really was Chris Evans while you were drowning in those blue eyes. 

“I need you to shave that beard off and get a haircut.”

He grunted out a laugh. 

“I’ll see what I can do. You don’t like the beard?”  
“No. I don’t. Shave it and get a haircut.”  
“Will do.”  
“Liar.”  
“Yeah. Maybe.”

You both laughed. You gripped his shoulders and flipped around. You sat with your back to him and leaned forward. You rubbed your ass against his boner. 

“I heard a rumor.”  
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”  
“That you’re an ass man.”  
“Not entirely true.”  
“But not entirely false either, is it?”  
“Nope. I do like the female form. In all different flavors.”

You threw your head back as you laughed. You turned back to face him again. 

“Did you really just say that?”  
“What?”  
“ ‘in all different flavors’? Am I to take that to mean you are an equal opportunity employer then?”  
“Something like that.”  
“Oh I heard you said you like women with a tan. What’s that supposed to mean anyways? Black? Yellow? Red? Anything that’s not white? But I’ve only ever seen you dating white women.”  
“The public sees what I want them to see. They don’t know everything about me.”  
“I see.”  
“Do you?”

He thrusts up into you, taking you by surprise and knocking the wind out of you.

“You ever been with a white guy?”  
“I think of men like Baskin Robbins. I like to sample all of the flavors before I decide which ones I like.”  
“So then you get me.”  
“Yeah, I guess I do.”  
“But you didn’t answer my question.”

You ground down on him and pushed your boobs into his face. 

“You’re very distracting, you know that?”

He moaned into your ear, nuzzling into your hair. Your clit now ached and you knew it would be easy at this point to get off. Thank God the third song in your play list had a fast beat. You could easily disguise your orgasm as a performance. 

“Are all the girls in here black?”  
“Yeah. Did you want a white girl to dance for you?”  
“Nope. Just wondering why it’s called The Pink Pussycat when all the girls are black.”  
“We all are wondering that. OK. Now, you’re being distracting.”

You put your hand over his mouth.

“Stop talking.”

He nodded. You didn’t move your hand. He kissed the palm of your hand and you pulled it away. 

“Are you going to get Jose?”  
“Are you testing me?”  
“You said you were going to punish me.”  
“I am.”

You put your hand back over his mouth. He kissed it again. You tilted your head and pursed your lips. He would regret that. 

“You don’t listen to orders very well.”

You ground down hard on him to the beat of the music. The sweet friction soothes the ache in your clit. It caused the tension in your belly to build. You back off of him and return to the pole. You rub your pussy up against the pole, giving him a show he’d never forget. The song switches to a slower beat. You crawl your way back into his lap. You see his reflection white-knuckling the chair while you ride him to your orgasm. You stand up and release him from his restraints. 

“Please feel free to show yourself the door.”

You reach under the stage to grab the towel. You wrap yourself in it, grab your wet bikini and disappear into the dressing room. You check the time. 4:15 am. Had all of that really only happened in 15 minutes?


End file.
